


Euphoria

by yo_kookie



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Angst, No Romance, Slight fluff, if i wrote it right, maybe???, mother-son fluff, not relationship fluff, or something, this should be sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 11:58:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2692127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yo_kookie/pseuds/yo_kookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Choi Junhong loves his mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Euphoria

**Author's Note:**

> i've never really written anything for bap??? i actually wrote this in like september/october. it's supposed to have two endings (one is much more cheerful than the other), but i never actually finished the second one so i'm posting it as-is because i'm a lazy piece of trash. if i find the motivation sometime later i'll update this with the second ending.

Junhong rolled over, glancing at his alarm clock with bleary eyes. The bright red numbers blurred together through his sleepy vision. Giving up on the time, he sat up and stretched, feeling his muscles pop back into place. He stood, pulling off his uniform trousers and trading them for the soft fabric of his pyjama sweats. The feeling of them almost made him want to lay right back down and drift off into a sound sleep. However, his stomach, seeming to know his intentions, growled to remind him that he did in fact skip dinner. He made his way from the bed and to the door before going into the kitchen.

What reached his ears first was the soft crying of his mother. His heart sank. He hated it when his mother cried. It made him want to cry. As he got closer and closer to the kitchen his mother's cries got louder. When he finally reached her she was letting her tears fall into a sink full of water. A bottle of whiskey clamped between her thin fingers. Junhong clenched his fists, angry at his father for coming over only to make his mother cry before leaving. He felt tears of his own pricking at his eyes, but he refused to cry. His mother didn't like watching him cry.

"Umma, are you alright?" he whispered, quiet as not to startle her. He'd feel guilty if he scared his mother.

She looked up, age showing in the wrinkles beneath her eyes. When her gaze met him she smiled, "Junhong, honey," her voice was ragged with overuse and there was a hint of sadness in it. Setting the bottle aside, she opened her arms, wide and accepting. Junhong all but rushed into her embrace. It was warm and loving like always.

"Honey?" his mother's words were spoken into his hair and it was as if the warmth behind her words was spreading throughout his body. "Junhong, honey, I love you. Umma loves you with all her heart. Do you love me, too?"

Junhong giggled, confused by the manner of the question. "Of course I love you. You're my umma." He smiled in her embrace, so happy to have a mother like her. She was always so loving and kind even when she wasn't at her best. He was so thankful to have her, and hoped she was thankful to have him, too.

"I'm glad to hear that, Junhong." she mused, running her fingers through his hair. Her touch was gentle, loving. They stayed still for a short while, Junhong finding comfort in his mother's touch. The kitchen remained silent as peace overtook the two. Junhong willed himself not to fall asleep, though the longer he stood there the heavier his eyes got. Finally, his mother spoke, jolting him out of an unwanted sleep.

"Your father is trying to take you away from me." It was said casually, but with a bit of bite in it. As soon as his mother said those words, Junhong felt his heart sink. His mother and father had been going back and forth for years over who had custody over him. One court order after the next, the conditions seeming to change each time. The last time, however, his father had almost won. He seemed determined to get his son back.

He looked at his mother, putting his bravest front on. "I won't let him get me. He doesn't deserve me."

Again, his mother smiled causing an identical smile to grow on his lips. "That's my Junhong," she whispered, pride in her voice.

The hands that were absentmindedly carding through his hair turned into vice grips, pulling at the dark strands. Junhong winced, opening his mouth make a sound of pain, but his head was yanked down and his face hit water. His mother's eyes were full of a rage he'd never seen. He was pushed further into the overflowing basin of the kitchen sink, thrashing in the hold of his mother. His body shook as she held him there. At some point he just barely managed to fight against her iron grip, and he sputtered for air, coughing, crying, and chest heaving. His hair, soaked, hung in his eyes as he wailed and fought against her hold. She plunged him back under the steaming water. His lungs burned, begged, pleaded for air. Those last greedy gulps of air had been far from sufficient. Again he tried to go against her, to free himself, but he was quickly exhausting himself. He felt his chest constrict, his lungs heave and work harder for just a little hint of hair. His mother's cleanly manicured nails dug into his scalp and pushed him farther down into darkness. It felt as if it had been several metres since he last broke the surface and inhaled the air he needed so desperately. Eventually, his limbs refused to move with the same vigour. His movements became slower, more static. His knees buckled as he no longer could support himself. Everything in his body worked overtime to find air, but it was futile. He could feel himself fading. His last breath, one he'd been holding in just to preserve, to hope that more air would come soon enough, escaped through parted lips as his eyes slowly slipped closed. The blurred silver of the sink's basin became darker and darker until it was black. The grip on his hair softened, then released, and he slid from the sink to the cracked linoleum flooring. A shot rang out, startling and loud. Then nothing.

———

Junhong's bright, sunshiny smile had greeted them merely hours before his death. Who could have predicted that the youngest of their group, one full of nothing but kindness and childish mischief, would meet such a heinous and untimely death? There were no words to say, no sentences to utter. During the funeral, an event too morose to even begin to capture Junhong's radiance, the five said nothing. Only two, Youngjae who'd promised to skateboard with Junhong just the next day (or at least attempt to) and Daehyun who had so rudely stole pieces of his cheesecake during lunch had tears pouring from their eyes, unable to contain themselves. Tears tore at Yongguk's eyes, threatening to spill any minute, but he refused. There was no way he could let them fall when Himchan and Jongup sat beside him in complete silence, with stern expressions stuck on their faces. He looked to the front of the room where the long casket stood. Junhong was gone. His dongsaeng, so young and full of life, was gone. A heavy stone sat itself in his heart, weighing him down. There were no words he had for Junhong. There was no way he could say goodbye. He wasn't prepared for this, or the call, or the news report or anything. He wished that Junhong was next to him, giggling about something like a first year. There were so many things he had wanted to say to him. "You really mean a lot to me." How could he say that now, when he knew his words would fall on deaf ears? It was his turn to say goodbye, and he knew. He stood on lead feet and walked slowly to the casket. Not one utterance left his lips when he reached Junhong. The whole room was silent behind him, as if whatever and whoever were behind did not exist. He looked long and hard at Junhong, willing himself not to cry. Reaching in, he clutched Junhong's cold hand in his own and finally cried. His face was red with anger, but wet with anguish. He wished Ms. Choi hadn't killed herself. He would make her regret stealing away Junhong's precious life. Junhong was light and innocence and pure happiness. No one could despise him. Even now, Yongguk couldn't hate him for leaving so suddenly. He pictured Junhong's face, smiling and laughing instead of cold and peaceful. His legs became weak and he kneeled, releasing the cold hand. He pounded his fists on the floor, enraged and grief-stricken. 

Junhong was gone.


End file.
